


Falling for a Dwarf

by ToxicWitchling



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: M/M, Thilbo, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicWitchling/pseuds/ToxicWitchling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dwarves are feeling the strain of their journey after the battle with Azog and long for rest, but Thorin is adamant to reach the Lonely Mountain. Our little burglar is left to feign a fall and earn everyone a good night's rest, only to discover a few things about the Company's dear leader. Soon there are all sorts of mad things going on including a proposal and the pre-ceremonial arrangements that come with such a celebration. Some a little more private than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling for a Dwarf

The journey to the Lonely Mountain stretched on before them; the glitter of the past hung on the horizon and some call on the wind beckoned for Thorin’s return. What a glorious return it would be, when the dragon was dead and the Arkenstone stood above his throne. Workhorse royalty no more; never to toil at the smiths of men again or make a fine dwarven blade for the childish. A King he would be – King under the mountain. First, he needed to reach his mountain and the winds pulled him forward, pushed his body one step closer to home.

However, the young Dwarf Prince so taken by the idea of Erebor’s mighty halls and the gold that there glittered, was blind to the tiredness in his men’s eyes. He was deaf to the coughing and the sneezing and yawns. Numb was he to the bitterness of the wind for it carried him on to the fires of his youth, sat in great halls of wealth and prosperity. Numb was he to the feel of the ache on his bones so tired from carrying great weight, for he had carried greater; the burnt dreams of his people sat precariously on his shoulders. The pack was nothing – the trek home was nothing. 

Yet Bilbo noticed. The small Halfling noticed the dull look in his companions eyes and the nods they shared to acknowledge that each was as tired as the last. Kili tripped over a small stone and was caught by his brother just in time. Dwalin’s eyes shuttered closed every few seconds, though he opened them just slightly to keep his direction. Balin was leading him, his hand clamped around some piece of fabric to lead his companion though his own eyes would falter now and then. They were a sad sight, and such tired bodies could not fend for themselves. Bilbo saw Fili put an arm to his sword as a small noise caught his ear. The blade was too heavy for his weary arm and with a sad sigh the dwarf let his hand fall to his side defeated.

Still Thorin trudged on, the promise of Erebor forcing him forward. The only member of the company who did not seem to be struggling was Gandalf, yet even he seemed damper in spirits. The meeting with the pale orc was a close encounter that he had not planned and it only played on his mind to the greater darkness that he sensed. It was these thoughts that stopped the grey wizard intervening with the unfolding situation; too lost in his own thoughts to comment on the valiant Thorin Oakenshield’s leadership. All in the company knew that questioning the Dwarven prince was near on an insult and the group would oft look to Gandalf to be the voice of reason. Though his council did not come no matter how Bilbo starred and coughed and made slight gestures for the wizard to take notice.

Eventually the Hobbit resigned from such obscure tactics and knew the task would be left to him. The dwarves did not want to upset their leader or put their hand forth to be identified as the weakness of the group. They would rather fall dead from walking than allow such shame upon them. So it was decided that day by Bilbo Baggins that he, a humble hobbit of the Shire, would save them from such a disaster. It was a shame, mind, to already lose his respect when he had only just gained Thorin’s approval. However, the small creature spotted a rock just ahead. It was large enough to feign a fall and if someone would quite indulge him in a bout of acting, why it was as good as a swollen ankle and a day of rest. Though Bilbo had to admit that Shire folk were not the best at lying or acting; but the Took blood that ran in his veins knew enough of the trade to perhaps slip by unnoticed. His nerves set in and he began a gentle humming, slowly starring at the back of Thorin’s head as he walked.

There was something terribly unnerving about trying to trick such a well versed man. Surely in his time of travels he had seen such a wound and would immediately call to question the injury. Perhaps he would scoff at the insignificance of it and force them on. Bilbo’s humming got louder as the rock approached and it called the attention of Bofur, who in his own bout of exhaustion had not noticed a vagrant leaf perched in his hat. Bilbo smiled nervously and gestured to the rock with a rolling motion of his eyes. Bofur did nothing but squint and Bilbo did not know whether that was a sign that the dwarf did not understand his hint or whether his sleep deprived state had sent him in a stupor. The young hobbit was one to admit that dwarves at their best were warm-hearted, brotherly and loyal. At their worst they could be moody, possessive and a little dense to say the least.

The rock was close now and Bilbo could feel his heart racing as he stepped into its path. Suddenly he felt a small tug on his robe as Balin went to pull him back in and say a few words. Bilbo quickly put his finger to his lips and glanced over to Thorin. There was a small moment of silence as Balin seemed to process the situation, until eventually he let go of Bilbo’s cloak and whispered a small “By Mahal, bless you Master Baggins,” before quietly assimilating back into the group. Many of the dwarves were too tired to notice the short goings on and what happened next was too fast for any of them to pick up on foul play. Before any of them knew it, Bilbo was tumbling on the floor, clasping his foot and howling in pain. The sudden noise jolted then to life and, in a convenient fashion, Balin made sure he was the first one to Bilbo’s side.

“My Prince, the hobbit has fallen!” he called out to Thorin who had already turned to see the commotion. Gandalf too craned his neck for a better look. Thorin approached and Bilbo’s heart raced, what if it didn’t work? What if Thorin knew he wasn’t hurt? Balin kept his hands over the supposed injury and eyed the hobbit to stay calm.  
“What happened?” Thorin’s voice was gruff and already obviously displeased at being stopped.  
“The poor creature fell whilst walking. I think he has sprained his ankle, see?” Balin gave the joint a small squeeze and Bilbo proceeded to yelp in pain. Thorin’s eyes narrowed.  
“How did this come about? You were not looking where you were going Hobbit. This is not the Shire! Be more careful!” the Prince’s voice sent the company reeling back a little.  
“No! No! The boy was keeping up with me because I was struggling a little with my age and all. It… it is not his fault Thorin,” Balin bowed his head and Bilbo felt a little ashamed that Balin should have to take some blame. A dwarf is a proud being, not one to often admit age had slowed them down.

Never the less, Thorin’s face softened at the remark.  
“Very well, someone pick him up and carry him on,” he commanded. Gloin went to do just that when Balin’s hand stopped him. Gandalf peered forward at his small friend, catching his eyes for but a moment before the hobbit looked away.  
“No! My Prince he must rest now and the injury must be put on ice or something cool to prevent the swelling. If we travel the way we have done, he won’t mend,” Balin pleaded.  
“We are weeks away from the mountain and…” Thorin was suddenly stopped.  
“And getting there whilst your burglar cannot walk and therefore cannot sneak past a certain dragon is useless. I say we camp nearby for a day or so. Get some well-deserved rest,” the grey wizard’s voice finally chimed in.  
A small light returned to the eyes of the dwarves who heard the word rest with glee and had they less pride would have fallen to their knees to plead with their leader. Thorin starred at Gandalf for a minute before reluctantly nodding his head. 

“Fine. Kili, Fili, gather fire wood. Oin and Gloin find us a clearing with some shelter to set up camp. It’s nearing dark now, we will rest all tomorrow and then there is no excuse for setting off in early hours of the morning the next day.”  
Even the threat of further travel did not damper the spirits of the dwarves who now had their long needed rest, but Bilbo felt the heinous glare of Thorin fall upon him and he dared not meet it. He felt it a shame to lose Thorin’s favour so quickly, but it was for the good of the group. 

 

Merry making could be heard from the dwarves for the first time in many a night. There were songs of Erebor and gold, of some sweet dwarven maiden that turned out to be a sweet dwarven lad and of ruder things that a Baggins of Bag End should not repeat in company of Shire folk. He had been laid out not too far from the fire but with enough space to stretch out his supposed injury. A damp cloth was wrapped around the ‘swelling’ and he’d mostly been ordered to rest. He didn’t see the point in dis-obeying the order since it came from Thorin, whose glares had been like ice since the incident earlier that day. 

Bilbo heard the sound of heavy footsteps and saw Bombur coming his way with his share of supper.  
“How’s our fine, young actor then?” his voice sounded jolly. Bilbo only blinked in confusion. “Ha, ha, no need to fret. Balin told us about your…eh… bruised ankle shall we say. A little reward, Halfling. From the other dwarves as well. Best cut of meat we’ve got tonight, as a thank you for saving us all from dropping down dead.”  
“That’s terribly nice of you, thank you,” Bilbo gave a shy smile as his meal was handed over.  
“Oh by the way, I’d beware. The lads have got their hands on the last of my cooking wine that I stole from the elves. They’ll be dwarves as high and mighty as the Mirkwood trees this night,” Bombur laughed and his fat belly bounced.  
“You stole from the elves? Isn’t that a little… bad for relations?” Bilbo almost choked on his food.  
“Bad for relations is holding a sword to a man’s neck, borrowing cooking wine is compensation. That music at that dinner was terrible, if I cannot hear a decent melody a man must be compensated with a decent meal at least.”

Bilbo simply nodded his head and tried not to argue. The comings and goings between the dwarves and elves was complicated business and not likely something a hobbit was bound to fix. Bombur simply smiled a gracious smile and bounded back to the group at the fire. He wasn’t wrong about the noise, soon enough the songs were louder and the talk more slurred than he had ever heard it before. He began to wonder just how much cooking wine Bombur had taken from Rivendell. Though he noticed Gandalf was not among them, but instead smoking a solitary pipe above their camp upon a rock. Bilbo suspected his thoughts must have been extremely important as of late, for the grey wizard talked little and watched the world around him less. Thorin was also absent from the camp fires glow, perhaps on watch as he often was when he did not feel the mood for being amongst his many kin. This was oft then one would think, as the lonely prince seemed to bare Erebor on his mind like a weight, a goal that longed to be achieved after so many a moon left wandering in the wilderness for some temporary home. 

Time drew on but Bilbo did not want to sleep. He had to be still for so long to keep up the appearance of his injury but all the while he heard the songs and laughter of the dwarves just a few feet away. Suddenly he felt a hand curl around his shoulder and turned to find a drunken Kili smiling down at him.  
“B..B…Bilbo! My friend, my friend. Let’s hear it for Bilbo!” the inebriated dwarf sung loud to his kin and a roar of cheers came from the fire. “Bilbo, you did a good thing my man… a go…a goo… a great thing.” Kili began violently patting Bilbo on the back and the hobbit could do nothing but endure it.  
“Quiet Kili, your uncle doesn’t know what I did,” he tried to hush the dwarf.  
“I’d be surprised, he watches you all…all the time. Didn’t you know?”  
“Kili I think you’ve had a little too much to drink, why don’t you go…”  
“NO! No! Here… here, Fili! Doesn’t uncle like Master Baggins over here?” Kili shouted back to his brother. Bilbo was desperate to quieten his companion, lest Thorin hear the commotion and come questioning. 

“Like him..? How was that hug my dear Bilbo? I…I do hope uncle’s sword wasn’t d..digging you too hard,” the sentence was ended with a small hiccup and the group erupted into laughter.  
Bilbo didn’t really pay much attention but instead kept a close watch for Thorin.  
“Exactly! De…dear master hobbit. Have you seen no change in my uncle’s behaviour? He looks at you the way a dwarf should look at his go…go… treasure,” he finally let the word slip. Bilbo wasn’t sure what to make of the conversation. He was ignoring Kili talking about Thorin whilst simultaneously trying to watch and avoid Thorin.  
“Is that so? And what would make you say such a thing?” he took his gaze from the shadows to look at Kili.  
“Well, you are a c...cute little thing, master hobbit,” the young dwarf lowered his voice and lifted a hand to sweep a curl from Bilbo’s face. He slowly leant in and Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what was happening. 

“Dwarves are very possessive of their treasure,” Kili whispered it as their lips came close to touching.  
“NEPTHEW!”  
“I knew he was w..watching. See what I mean?” Kili smiled and drew away from the hobbit. “Yes uncle?”  
Thorin had appeared from the darkness surrounding the camp site and by the look on his face he was not in the mood for the merry making by the fire. If anything, his glare was worse than before but the drink made Kili brave.  
“Why are you bothering our burglar with your drunken propositions?”  
“I didn’t know I was bothering him, then Master Baggins is too kindly to say when he is bothered,” Kili smiled and tweaked Bilbo’s nose in a drunken friendliness that soured his uncle’s look further.  
“Get your brother, you are next for the watch,” Thorin’s voice was like ice. Kili didn’t seem to pick up on the annoyed undertone of his uncle’s grunts, or if he did he met them with drunken indifference. He knew why he was being sent to the watch so early; to get him away from the hobbit.  
Bilbo was of course caught in the middle of this family crossfire and it didn’t at all make him feel comfortable to be at the mercy of Thorin’s gaze. Kili was un-affected as family members do often tend to be to their kin’s habits and tricks. Poor Bilbo was stiff as a board, begging not to be left alone with the Dwarven Prince and trying his hardest to stop the shivers running up his spine. Kili stood and took a small bow.  
“Right away,” he smiled and gave Bilbo a wink. Before he knew it, he was left alone with Thorin; sitting in a terrible silence that pulled at his nerves.  
“Why was he that close to you?” Bilbo turned to find Thorin at practically the same distance Kili had occupied before him. One little tug or push would have them smacking lips and he couldn’t bear to cross the dwarfs hardened stare.  
“I…I don’t really know. He’s quite a bit drunk I suppose and…”  
“And nothing. Disgraceful behaviour, prepositioning the company’s burglar,” Thorin’s eyes fell to the group.  
“What? I don’t think he was prepositioning me; he was just being a little overly friendly. You’re reading far too much into this,” the Took in the little hobbit came alive as he folded his arms and positively went in a huff.

Thorin cocked an eyebrow and seemed positively amused at Bilbo’s new strategy.  
“Tell me, halfing. Are you fine with me being this close to you?” Thorin’s voice dipped as his eyes came to meet that of the hobbit’s. Bilbo suddenly realised the lack of space between them, the closeness and the heat of Thorin’s breathe raining down upon him. Their gazes were locked and Bilbo couldn’t help but notice the handsome yet worn face of a rough man under the beard. It seemed like forever before he could speak but he could feel the burning blush that had spread across his cheeks.  
“Y…yes. P…perfectly fine,” he managed to stutter. A small chuckle came from deep in Thorin’s throat as he pushed forward and caused their noses to touch. He nuzzled them together for a little while and the muscles in Bilbo’s body began to relax with the gentle motion. 

Suddenly he felt something sharp on his nose and realised the Dwarven Prince had quickly nipped his nose.  
“What on middle earth was that for?” Bilbo cried.  
“For getting too big for your boots, burglar. I don’t want to see you fooling around with my nephew again,” with that Thorin walked off towards the camp fire and Bilbo could see the curious eyes of the company busy themselves with menial tasks. They’d all been carefully watching their leader’s reaction to Kili’s little pranks and even the mischievous brothers had watched from afar, giggling at their Uncle’s less than subtle tactics.

Poor Bilbo Baggins, he had no idea what was going on. 

 

The next morning Bilbo almost gave away his fake injury by attempting to rise and walk around. Not a good start to a day meant solely for resting his leg. Even though he himself had been tired of the journey, he had had a good night’s sleep and something terribly warm and sweet had slipped its way into his dreams. He felt an arm, strong and firm, around his waist. He heard a voice, low like the growl of something feral but it was tantalising in the worst ways. It was right in his ear, whispering to him about something lewd, about something all the hobbits in Hobbiton would dread to even think of let alone say out loud. Yet, something in him loved it. The Took; the Took inside Bilbo Baggins longed for more of those growled words and that warm touch in his dream. However, the Baggins of Bag End was still questioning ever setting foot outside his front door. 

As he sat up to look around and was greeted by sleeping dwarves, many softly snoring and still deep in dreams. However, one dwarf was wide awake.  
“Burglar,” a deep voice answered from the dying fire. Thorin sat on one of the gathered rocks, watching over the camp.  
“Have you not slept?” Bilbo’s question was laced with concern. The Dwarven Prince looked slightly rougher than he remembered at the beginning of the trip.  
“Not much, halfling. I am plagued by dreams of home.”  
“Are dreams of home not happy things?” Bilbo asked.  
“Once, perhaps. Though, now all I dream of is ash and blood stained gold. I sometimes even begin to wonder will the hall be enough with the damage it has seen?” the question wasn’t really aimed at Bilbo; Thorin’s eyes were too far off for it to have been meant for him.  
“I thought the hall was all you wanted?”  
“A hall is a hall and a throne is a throne. If I wanted those things I could have rebuilt them long ago. Erebor is a principal for Dwarven kind. We were driven from our home like pests and our greatest treasures, more than gold or diamonds, but the simplicity in a land that was ours, was stolen from us. Erebor once glittered and shone, like the jewel in a King’s crown. Now it rusts and I only hope the home I once knew is not dead forever,” Thorin paused and looked out to the mountain. 

“H..homes don’t tend to rust,” Bilbo blurted out. Thorin turned back to watch him. “They gather dust sometimes and get a bit grimy, but they never lose what they are or what they held. I tend to find that to set a fire is to return home. A fire in a hearth and a meal with people you love. No home is truly lost; just waiting for the family to return.”  
There was silence for a moment and for a little while Bilbo thought that Thorin’s glare would blaze straight through him. Suddenly the dwarf rose from his place at the fire and seemed to stride straight towards Bilbo’s bed roll. Bilbo wasn’t sure what to do, he felt like running but he was supposed to have a swollen ankle. Thorin was getting closer and nothing seemed to be deterring him; not the slowly waking dwarves around him and not the curious grey wizard who was secretly looking on. Eventually, Thorin was upon him and the dwarf crouched to the shorter man’s level and set his face mere inches from Bilbo’s. Two hands went either side of Bilbo’s face and there was a sudden urgency to Thorin’s look.  
“Marry me!” the words were loud and clear on the air.

Bilbo froze for a few seconds and wondered if he had misheard. Kili and Fili had awoken beside him, not to mention Balin and Dwalin and Bofur and Bombur and Oin and Gloin; all wide awake and starring at their kneeling Prince.  
“W..what? I think I misheard you. I don’t…”  
“Marry me!” this time the demand was followed by a kiss; a heavy, passionate kiss that was accompanied by two strong arms pulling him in at the waist and small audible gasps from the company. Once released Bilbo still wasn’t sure whether he was dreaming. The arms were the same as the night’s sleepy folly and there was something familiar in the grunt of Thorin’s voice as he barked the command.  
“What is your answer hobbit? Speak!” Thorin was almost pleading.

“W…well, it’s a bit sudden but I suppose I…” he was cut off by thunderous cheering. The other dwarves had mistaken the simple rambling of ‘I suppose’ as a most definite and ultimate yes. Their Prince had a young husband. Even Thorin’s face softened as though Bilbo had declared some undying love and the marriage was to be set a week into summer or some fantasy only a dwarf could muster from the words ‘I suppose’.  
“Wait, I…” he was cut short again by another kiss. Bilbo had learnt many things of dwarves on his travels with them and one was that they are stubborn, and once they have an idea in their heads there isn’t much you can do about it. Especially when that dwarf was Thorin. He smiled when they parted lips and felt a sudden shift as he was lifted above the shoulders of the dwarves. The cheers were still going; everyone was laughing and smiling, like some monumental event had taken place.  
“Gandalf, be honest with me for once. What have I let myself in for?” he shouted up to the grey wizard who was also clapping.  
“A very interesting adventure, Mister Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. A very interesting adventure indeed,” he smiled.  
“Oh interesting’s the word alright, but I think the most interesting will be the pre-ceremony celebrations, don’t you lads?” Bofur winked and a roar went out amongst the company.

“Pre-ceremony celebrations?” Bilbo was almost afraid to ask.  
“Oh aye, in dwarven tradition a married couple must be well acquainted in every sense before they wed,” Bofur smiled.  
“And we do mean every sense,” Kili chimed in.  
“Take it this way, Master Baggins,” the voice that spoke next belonged to Fili. “I do so hope you don’t mind my uncle’s sword poking you. It might be the only thing you feel for next couple of days.”

Thunderous laughter again.

Bilbo couldn’t discern whether Dwarves were the most brotherly creatures he’d ever meet… or the most vulgar.


	2. Things a Baggins shouldn't do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves come by some much needed luck on their travels and it somehow leads to a heated affair between Thorin and Bilbo.

The proposal had been a sudden one and rather aggressive at that, but Bilbo supposed the nature of Dwarves did not change in their courtship of one another. He had never heard of a hobbit marrying a dwarf; he had scarcely heard of a hobbit deciding to leave the Shire. However, it seemed he found himself a betrothed man with a sufficiently grumpy fiancé to boot. Since the proposal there was constant talk of the wedding. The company had all but forgotten Smaug and talked of Erebor as though the gates were wide and waiting, with crowds just dying to lay down flowers for the return of their King with his new spouse. Bilbo on the other hand wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten into such a mess. Not to say he wasn’t at all flattered by Thorin’s offer, but he would have liked to have had a bit more time to think on it.

 

What news it would be in the Shire; Bilbo Baggins was to marry the King under the mountain. He wasn’t sure how well it would sit with the Shire folk and whether he ever would be allowed to set foot back in Hobbiton without vicious stares. Fili and Kili had taken to calling him ‘Uncle’ with such glee that Bilbo couldn’t quite fathom it, and every glance was a well-meaning message with the eyes. It was all rather merry except for the onslaught of lewd jokes. They just hadn’t stopped since the proposal; every other word was about Bilbo’s fine rear or ‘careful when you bend over, laddie’. He half expected Thorin to be greatly insulted or at least intervene, but it seemed that the comments only made the Dwarven Prince proud. Perhaps it was some Dwarven compliment that one’s partner was recognised as sexually appealing. Dwarves were hoarders of fine jewels and precious metals; maybe all things were as coveted as gold.

 

The young hobbit still worried over the supposed pre-marriage preparations. Nothing had been said by Thorin; only small gestures of growing affection. The Prince would sneak closer to him at night, their bed rolls touching and an arm thrown around the small halfing when the chill set in. Though nothing grew too sexual as of yet. Whether Thorin was containing himself out of pride for his title as King or out of graciousness for an inexperienced fiancé Bilbo did not know, but either way he was grateful. He could handle the jokes to a certain point, about bending over and poking swords and wrestling, however something stirred in Bilbo’s stomach. The real life possibility of having Thorin set his lust upon him. He remembered the dream he had only the night before Thorin’s proposal; the one about strong arms and feral breath that made him sweat and writhe and beg like he’d never done before in his life. It brought a violent blush to his cheeks.

 

“Are you well, halfling? Your face is flushed,” Thorin’s deep voice cut into Bilbo’s train of thought.

“Yes, t…thank you,” Bilbo smiled in return and he swore he saw the small hints of a smile lingering on his fiancés face. The company had run into some much needed luck when approaching the woods that separated them from the Lonely Mountain. They had come across two woodsmen who had journeyed from Mirkwood; both relatively weary and worse for wear. They carried two smaller ponies with them, explaining that on their journey through the woods towards a settlement of man they had been a company of five seeking to trade goods. Unfortunately, forces saw them split and two grown horses carrying fine stock bolted when spooked by some creature in the trees. The ponies were small and not likely to sell at the markets as they were useless for carrying men. A few provisions traded hands to see the men to their settlement and the ponies were handed over with glee. The men were happy to be rid of the forest and to move on quickly without having to trouble themselves with the well fare of stock that would not sell.

 

Of course, the dwarves insisted on the couple taking the two ponies. It was only right that the King and his husband to be would sit and guide the company. They’d rode a long way and all that time Thorin had stayed extremely close to Bilbo’s side, stealing glances every so often and making quiet small talk to break the silences that lay between them. Bilbo had felt a little odd at first, thinking that awkward silences were something that a couple about to be wed should not still be experiencing. However, he realised that not all the silences were awkward. Some were simply inevitable and even sometimes comfortable. Thorin would hum a small tune that bought joy to Bilbo’s heart. He loved the sound of Thorin’s voice; deep and husky. It sent shivers down his spine to listen to him sing and nothing rivalled the growl in his voice when some rage took him. It was a guilty pleasure that Bilbo allowed himself, now excusing it with a simple ‘Well, he is my betrothed after all.’

 

He found himself becoming more and more accustomed to idea of marrying the Dwarven Prince. He suddenly saw comfort in Thorin, something that before had only been a fearful respect. Once, Bilbo dreaded the idea of anything longer than a second with the dwarf. Now, he thought of him constantly; of how handsome his face was, how his command was strong, how every fibre of his being was so feral and majestic. Bilbo would have been lying to say it didn’t turn him on. He’d never known such a man, not in all his years within the Shire. Hobbit folk were gentle, sweet and mostly content. Perhaps Took blood could make them proud but it was not the same as Dwarf pride. When Hobbit’s were proud they were huffy and self-congratulatory. Thorin was something else. His pride was regal; mysterious and bold yet never vain nor un-seemly.

A sudden bout of coughing drew the group’s attention and all eyes rested upon Balin. The old Dwarf had been slowing down over the last few days, perhaps with the chill of the wind catching him of the short nights. Though it had been Bilbo only a week or so before to take a fall, Balin’s footing had gone astray a good few times since. He stumbled here and there, whilst some members of the group caught him shivering even during the day.

“Balin, take my pony,” Bilbo called out to him. Some of the company looked to Bilbo with warm eyes, grateful and pleased with his selflessness. Others looked to Thorin, who they knew had enjoyed riding next to his partner.

“I agree. You are not well enough to walk. Take his mount,” Thorin nodded in agreement. Balin didn’t really have time to protest before another bout of coughing started and Bilbo simply slipped from his small saddle. He helped get the old dwarf up with the aid of Kili and Fili before reaching for his walking stick.

 

“No need,” Thorin announced with no drop of un-certainty. In a flash he had been hoisted up onto his partners pony, seated in front of Thorin in a slightly awkward straddling position. Kili and Fili let out a small fit of giggles which were not stifled by their Uncle’s disapproving glare. The grey wizard who had taken to the back of the company only smiled and nodded when Bofur gave him a knowing look. Bilbo was a little mortified to say the least. It was one thing to have two separate ponies and ride alongside one another, but it was a different thing altogether to share the same mount. Not to mention, Thorin had sat him in such a terribly uncomfortable position that he couldn’t help but shuffle a little at first, desperate not to come off the pony walking funny. He remembered the first time he did that and the way the dwarves had all had a good laugh at the limp he had for the next few days.

 

Still he went of squirming until eventually a hand affixed itself around his waist and squeezed tight. He stopped dead.

“Keep still,” there was a certain hitch to Thorin’s voice that Bilbo had never heard before. Some new found desperation mixed with something gruffer. The Prince did not remove his hand once the Hobbit was done shuffling and the feel of Thorin’s hand on his side made Bilbo stiff as a board. The journey went on, sometimes the company was in good spirits, joking and chatting, whilst at others they were silent. There came a time when Bilbo swore he could feel something against his back, something hard like a belt buckle or perhaps Thorin’s sword digging into him. His innocent mind thought of simply asking Thorin aloud to move his sheath a little. That was until he remembered Fili’s joke.

“I hope you don’t mind my Uncle’s sword.”

 

Bilbo could feel his own face burn red from ear to ear and his was thankful that Thorin was leading the company so no one could see his blush. He dipped his head a little and tried shifting forward. Thorin’s arm immediately tightened around his waist and pulled him further back into the Dwarf’s embrace. He felt the hard presence poke him. He began to hope with all his might that it was nothing more than a sword or a belt buckle; that some of Thorin’s armour was simply misplaced and sticking him in the back. The Prince himself seemed un-phased and unchanged so Bilbo took it as a sign of relief. Surely a man so proud as Thorin would be able to control such a thing and never seek to lose face in front of his company. No, it was all in Bilbo’s mind. It was Kili and Fili’s little joke that had sent his mind whirling way out of control.

 

Suddenly, Thorin fell back and ordered the company on ahead of him. For a while he approached Gandalf and they began a short discussion of plans and routes into the mountain. A good time was spent jousting a little about the involvement of Elrond and the elves, even though they had helped a great deal with the door into Erebor. Bilbo sighed a little at Thorin’s stubbornness and gave Gandalf a side wards glance of smug disbelief.

“I do believe you two really are destined to be wed. It seems your fiancé already knows you well Thorin Oakenshield,” the grey wizard smiled and moved on quickly to catch up to the now far ahead company.

 

There was a small silence for a moment where Bilbo thought Thorin was mauling over the wizards words.

“Finally,” his gruff voice came. It wasn’t something Bilbo was expecting him to say but neither did he anticipate the sudden kiss on his neck. It was followed by more; slowly getting more heated as Thorin pulled Bilbo closer. Again, the Hobbit could feel the hardness of something behind him digging into his back. He lifted his own hand to clutch at Thorin’s hair, desperate to ask questions but too lost in the sensation to know how.

“Do you know how badly I’ve ached for you since you joined me?” Thorin thrust forward a little and Bilbo felt the hardness push against his back. A high pitched squeak escaped his lips and he shoved a hand to his mouth.

“I like that noise, halfling. Do it again,” his voice was a low growl and he was tracing the outline of Bilbo’s ears with his tongue. One should know that a Hobbit’s ears are especially sensitive and thus, as Thorin suddenly bit down on the very tip of Bilbo’s ear, he couldn’t help but squeak.

Thorin’s lips went back to Bilbo’s neck but this time he was biting, leaving a hot trail of love marks as he went. His firm hand stroked the Hobbit’s stomach and Bilbo writhed at the touch.

“Tell me,” his breath was in Bilbo’s ear, hot and wet. “Do you ache for me?”

Bilbo felt Thorin’s hand slip to his lower regions and cup his manhood firmly. It was a brass move and he had to bite his lip to stop from moaning. What on earth was happening? A young, once respectable Hobbit was sat on a horse being lewdly courted by a Dwarf Prince. In which of his books did this ever happen? The fantasy didn’t stop as Thorin began lavishing his neck with kisses again whilst still holding firm to his growing erection. Worst of all, the Prince was still gently shuffling forward – pushing his hardness into Bilbo’s back.

 

The Hobbit had made an educated guess to say that the thing against his back was not a sword or a belt buckle.

“T-Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, not wanting anyone in the group ahead to hear.

“What is it, my dear halfling?” Thorin smiled as he began to kiss the smaller man’s cheek.

“Why all of a s-sudden…”

“I’ve been dying to touch you since the proposal but the company won’t give us a second to ourselves. I’ve been going mad sleeping so close to you without contact. There’s only so much a dwarf can take,” his hand slipped further up Bilbo’s shirt causing the Hobbit to let out a quiet slow moan.

“I want you…” – This was bad, very bad. He was losing himself to Thorin’s touch, to Thorin’s heavy voice in his ear.

“I want to strip you bare…” – Every word made it worse; the longing in Bilbo’s groin to be handled roughly.

“Leave teeth marks all over your body…” – It was becoming so wrong, but felt so right at the same time.

“Spread your legs…” Thorin whispered the words and squeezed Bilbo’s thigh. “Make you beg.”

 

In all the ages in Middle Earth, Bilbo was quite sure no one had ever spoken to a Hobbit like that. He surprised himself, how the words didn’t repulse him but enticed him. He felt his body push back little and relax into the dwarfs kisses. Suddenly Thorin withdrew from Bilbo’s neck, much to the dismay of the Hobbit, but it was in good time. Balin, who now headed the group, had turned and began to call back.

“The hour is late, my Prince. There is ground to camp up ahead,” the old Dwarf shouted.

“Good, lead on Balin. We camp tonight and leave tomorrow morning,” Thorin nodded in reply. “And I can finally have my way with you,” his voice dropped to a whisper as he eyed Bilbo hungrily. Bilbo had to admit that he’d never been looked at like that before; like he was something absolutely delectable, something so rare and sweet that a dwarf couldn’t help but say yes. A few weeks ago he was simply Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, with an armchair and his mother’s doilies to comfort him.

 

The group stopped quickly, most members eager to eat and rest for the long trek still ahead of them. Bilbo was still a little anxious about everything with Thorin, the rough experience being something completely unknown to him. He thought for a moment about slipping away and helping with Bombur with dinner or assisting Balin considering his declining health. However he was beaten to it by Thorin’s commanding voice. The Prince was crafty and seemed just as cunning as any Took. Before Bilbo could assign himself anything, the Prince was dishing out Orders.

“Fili, Kili – scout out the ground to the east of the campsite to find any fire wood and make sure the areas secure. Bombur, Bofur – start dinner. Gloin, Oin and Dwalin – make sure Balin is comfortable. The rest of you set up camp and tie up the ponies. Bilbo and I will scout to the west and try to find meat for the pot.”

 

The commands were clear and everyone split. It was very obvious to Bilbo why he had been put with Thorin, and this time it was more than just a simple act of chance for the new couple. Before he could protest he was being dragged away by hand, though none of the other dwarves seemed to notice. Even Gandalf had busied himself with tending to Balin and his cough. There was nothing standing between him and Thorin, though he didn’t know whether the idea scared him or thrilled him. Thorin kept pulling him along, deeper and deeper into the woods. Bilbo was about to say something about the distance they were travelling when he was suddenly shoved against a tree.

“Now,” Thorin’s voice was clear and it made Bilbo tremble slightly. Again he was smothered in kisses; in moment his shirt was dishevelled and Thorin had a clear view of his collarbone. He kissed it and made his way back up to the Hobbit’s lips with small nicks along his neck. Bilbo was still holding in the moans he wanted to let ring out; desperately clinging to Thorin’s back.

 

They parted suddenly and Thorin threw his fur coat to the ground. Bilbo thought that maybe he was going to lie them down but the Prince did no such thing. He continued to undress, leaving his armour to fall at his side and revealing a thick, well-toned chest that sent a new heat shooting to Bilbo’s groin. He’d never seen such a handsome dwarf. Thorin was quick to finish with his own clothes and begin ripping at Bilbo’s. The shirt was gone in seconds, revealing a slightly pudgier and rounder stomach than the warrior in front of him. The trail of kisses went lower, covering his chest as Thorin held his hands in place against the tree. When he rose again he took Bilbo’s waist with both arms and began grinding; their erections pressing against each other in a way that made Bilbo want it more than ever.

 

Thorin couldn’t take the anticipation for long; he was an impatient man and he’d already been engaged come a week without throwing the Hobbit down in a rabid heat. Dwarves were not polite creatures about their desires, especially not with their spouses. His hands travelled down into his lover’s trousers, eager to grab at the flesh that waited for him. Bilbo’s dick was already hard; the pleasure Thorin had taken in touching him on their ride behind the company had bore fruit. His little halfling was finally ready. He began pumping gently and sucking on the skin of Bilbo’s neck. Moans escaped Bilbo’s lips as he tried in vain to control himself. His hand went to Thorin’s hair and he tugged a little. As the speed of the strokes increased so did the force with which Bilbo pulled on Thorin’s hair and it made his legs weak when the Prince let out low growls in his ear.

 

Bilbo’s trousers fell to his ankles, any dignity he had left as a Baggins was gone. Thorin broke their contact for just a moment to retrieve something from his coat pocket. Bilbo whimpered at the loss of touch and Thorin let out a small chuckle. He returned quickly with something that looked like a small bottle of oil. Before Bilbo could really ask any questions he was hoisted up, his back against the tree and his legs wrapped around Thorin’s waste. Another passionate kiss came; his hands clamped on his lovers face, eager for more.

“Tell me, Hobbit. Have you done this before?”

“Sex? Yes…but not with…” he was silenced by another kiss.

“Relax,” it was a command but in a much smoother tone than usual. Bilbo heard Thorin unscrew the bottle cap and could only assume that the Prince coated his fingers in the oil. Once more, he bit down on the Hobbit’s neck and drew a long moan from his lips. That was all he needed to begin.

 

One finger entered and Bilbo tensed immediately at the foreign feeling.

“Relax!” Thorin’s usual growl came back as he dragged his teeth along Bilbo’s marked skin. It was an unpleasant feeling at first, strange and uncomfortable. Then Thorin began a gentle movement, a slow push and pull. Eventually it became bearable and then enjoyable as the Prince kept a steady rthyme. Soon another finger joined the first and began scissoring Bilbo’s hole a little wider. The halfling was tight from inexperience but Thorin would fix that soon. Bilbo was moaning into the crook of his lover’s neck, desperate to stifle the lewd noises he was dying to make. The third finger came and it was too much; he bit into Thorin’s neck, drawing a loud and somewhat feral groan from the dwarf. He dragged his fingers down Thorin’s sculpted back, leaving a trail of bright red scratch marks.

 

“Well, burglar. I never took you for that type,” Thorin literally purred it into Bilbo’s ear. It didn’t really matter now; Bilbo was lost in his senses – the earthy smell of Thorin’s skin, the salty taste of his sweat and even the sound of his breath. Thorin couldn’t control his urge to watch Bilbo’s face; he winced with the movement and threw his head back in pleasure, the feeling of fingers inside him becoming more comfortable. Thorin was through with waiting. He removed his fingers altogether and earned a displeased mewl from his smaller lover at the loss of contact. He took his lips again, his bruised lips, and smothered him with heated kisses. Quickly, Thorin positioned himself at Bilbo’s entrance. One thrust and Bilbo almost screamed out. He was scratching the dwarf’s shoulder blades now, gripping them tightly until they bled. With every new thrust he began to rock his hips with the movement, his hands wondered to Thorin’s hair and began tugging. He couldn’t speak; neither of them could as their lips pressed together, tongues in a heated battle.

 

A few more thrusts and Bilbo made a sound he wasn’t sure was even him. A scream almost, something that gave Thorin the nod that he was in the right place. He hit it again and again, Bilbo’s cries of pleasure just pushing him further towards climax. Bilbo stifled his screams in Thorin’s neck, deciding finally to bite down on Thorin’s shoulder, gaining a short moan from the Prince’s lips. It was a satisfying sound and Bilbo took great pleasure in hearing it. He began kissing Thorin’s ear, tracing the outline with his tongue and nipping the tip. Thorin shuddered and let a hand drop to Bilbo’s forgotten member. He began pumping again and thrusting at the same time.

“Do you like that, halfling?” a smirk fell across the Dwarf’s face. Something about the cockiness of that statement didn’t sit well with Bilbo’s Tookish tendencies.

 

The small creature slid a hand down Thorin’s spine, slow and steady whilst still tugging at hair with the other. He rocked slowly and traced his lover’s jawline with his tongue. Thorin shuddered, his smirk faded into a look of euphoria.

“Why don’t you find out?” he made sure to whisper it just in Thorin’s ear and it was enough, enough to send him over the edge. The thrusts were faster and deeper; the Dwarf Prince latched himself to Bilbo’s neck, biting until he slowly made his way back to the Hobbit’s bruised lips. He was close, so close he could feel it. They began kissing feverishly; a few more strokes and thrusts passed until Thorin climaxed in his lover. The noise he made was wild and escaped from deep in his throat, something that pushed Bilbo to his own limit. The small Hobbit came all over the dwarf’s chest; his breath ragged and his head fuzzy from the long sweat of passion that had taken him.

 

They sat for a little while curled around one another, just breathing and clinging. Suddenly Thorin moved to pull Bilbo closer, retrieving his fur coat from where it lay on the ground and wrapping it around them. Bilbo suddenly noticed the chill in the air, something long forgotten to him whilst in the heat of his lovers embrace.

“I never knew you had it in you,” Thorin chuckled as he threw his arms around Bilbo.

“Neither did I,” a bit of Baggins common sense had returned, perhaps a little too late but better late than never. They didn’t stay there long before re-dressing and heading back to camp. They picked up fire wood on the way so not to rouse too much suspicion or so Bilbo supposed. When they got back the dinner was almost cooked, though lacking much meat from the skinny rabbits Ori had managed to catch.

 

Bilbo tried to hide his limp; something so new to him that at first he wondered whether they’d done something wrong. Thorin just laughed and explained that it wouldn’t last too long. After eating, Bilbo excused himself quite quickly and courteously, dying for rest after the long day and his sudden bout of rough exercise. Thorin simply smiled as the Hobbit stood and grabbed his hand to pull him down for small kiss. Bilbo blushed at the forwardness in front of the company but Thorin’s kin seemed all too pleased at the progress. Gandalf gave him a sly smile of knowing and simply tipped his hat. Once he was free of the goodnight’s and sleep well’s, Bilbo tucked himself into his bedroll and fell almost straight to sleep.

 

After a few hours he awoke with the sudden roar of noise. The sky wasn’t quite black but a darkening shade of blue and a crackling fire shone against its stars. Around its warmth the dwarves were laughing, rather loudly and inconsiderately but Bilbo knew they didn’t do it on purpose. They were just a merry lot, with many brotherly stories and songs to sing. It seemed that night’s entertainment centred around Thorin, who had a strangely satisfied smile on his face. Bilbo decided there was no chance at rest until the company had settled and so got up to join them.

“Hello,” he said with a small smile. He still had a slight limp but he thought he hid it well.

“There he is… the beast himself,” Bofur laughed and the company roared with him.

“Excuse me?” Bilbo gave a small chuckle.

“You! Never pegged you as an animal!” Dwalin winked. Bilbo looked around the circle confused until his eyes fell to Thorin who was smiling smugly. Then Bilbo’s face dropped.

 

“I haven’t seen anything leave marks on our Uncle like that since he wrestled a warg,” Fili hooted.

“Teeth marks on his neck! And have you seen his back. Red! Red raw with scratch marks. I thought he’d been attacked!” Kili patted Bilbo on the back a little too hard. Bilbo himself was struck silent. They all knew. Thorin had showed them; showed them all the marks their love making had created. He was mortified.

“You picked a good one here. Cute face, homely traits and a drive like a dog in heat,” it was Bofur’s turn to pat his back. Bilbo wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Why did dwarves have to be so open? Why?


	3. The sour days of the Hobbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has been deeply upset over the incidents of the last chapter, not being a Hobbit to often spread his business amongst a group. It's a heated argument between the two lovers and neither wants to budge until the loneliness is just too much.

The group had noticed a change in their small burglar over the past few days; he spoke less and his face was sour. It was strange to say the least, especially when the company was so used to Bilbo being so homely and sweet. He let Balin keep the pony for a few days as even in his fouler moods he was still a generous Hobbit. Thorin had shuffled back on his own pony, perhaps a little eager to continue their actions of the previous ride. However Bilbo had grabbed his walking stick and made sure to trudge far behind the leader, feigning conversation with Ori if only for the sake of having an excuse not to talk to Thorin. The group noticed the tension but dared not comment. Though Bilbo did not have the same heavy, threatening presence as Thorin when he was angered, the Hobbit had a certain tension and glare that bought a stop to their tongues. Bilbo had his mother’s blood after all and a Took is not one to be made a fool of.

In all honesty, Bilbo was a little miffed at the whole company not just Thorin. He was not appreciative of having his sex life spread amongst the group. He was sure there was no mal content hid behind the gesture; dwarves were just open creatures, but a shred of his Hobbit pride still lingered. He was definitely mad. For hours he stayed mostly silent, only breaking it with short bouts of chatter between himself and the youngest dwarf Ori who seemed to have grown fond of the Hobbit’s stories. His youth was eager for tales of homely places and warmth; such as the Shire would offer. Bilbo was most pleased to have someone who would listen to his stories of green pasture, farmyard animals and quiet Sunday mornings. Ori was almost entranced by it; the sweet and simple life of home. 

Not too far ahead Dwalin and Gloin were listening carefully, nodding every now and then at the mention of the Shire. Though there was a caution in their eyes that stopped them from asking questions. Thorin was obviously displeased that his little lover had chosen not to ride with him, and worse not to even remain by his side. There was an icy freeze to his glare and a jealous possessiveness that the company wouldn’t stand against. Ori was quite oblivious; as he usually was to most things. It was no secret that Thorin was completely displeased with the current standings; he felt a deep sense of hurt at the sudden distance. Maybe Bilbo was still among the company and not far off, but dwarf lovers were close. Dwarf lovers stood together, rode together and fought together. Even though Bilbo had only chosen to fall back a little and talk with a member of Thorin’s own company, he couldn’t help but feel jealous. Bilbo was his; he belonged with him, next to him.

“Bilbo, Ori – you are walking too slowly. Catch up!” he barked back at them. The possessive nature of his people flared within him. Bilbo narrowed his eyes.   
“We’re at a good pace. We won’t fall behind,” his voice cut through the company and many of the dwarves seemed shocked. No one had ever spoken back to Thorin, not even his own nephew’s. Thorin blinked a little at the audacity of the Hobbit.   
“Do as I say Halfling,” his voice barked again.   
“I’ll do as I see fit,” Bilbo was just getting angrier the more Thorin pushed him.  
“By the by, they argue as though they’ve been married an age,” Gandalf whispered cunningly to Balin. The elder dwarf simply nodded his head and sought no more to be involved in the argument.   
“You’ll do as I command, and like it,” Thorin had turned his pony and was making his way back. 

Kili couldn’t help letting a small chuckle escape from his lips but Fili soon silenced him with an elbow to the gut.   
“Since we weren’t falling behind there was nothing for us to do,” Bilbo had a new found confidence about him when he was angry. Ori unfortunately had no such confidence and was fully prepared to dive into the nearest bush.   
“It is not wise to argue with me, Hobbit,” Thorin almost spat the word. Contrary to what his words may have suggested, he didn’t want to fight with Bilbo. It just happened to be a common thing that Dwarves were not ones for saying sorry or admitting weakness or fault. Thorin was particularly bad at the latter two. He wanted to pick up his small lover and place him on his mount. He wanted to hold tightly to his waist as he had done before and kiss his neck, to lavish him with affection.   
“I’m not arguing, I’m stating a fact. We aren’t falling behind,” Bilbo answered with as much aggression as Thorin had given him. He even pulled on Ori’s hand to haul him forward, both of them hurriedly walked past the company’s leader without another word.

Thorin almost jumped down off his mount to smack their hands apart. He couldn’t stand it; even the slightest touch with another sent his mind reeling. Bilbo belonged to him and he had no business holding another’s hand or talking of sweet things without him. Even Ori, with all his blundering youth, knew that Thorin would be jealous of such contact and tried to mumble a sedate warning of the troubles to come to Bilbo.   
“Nonsense, I can talk to who I please,” the Hobbit was having none of it. Gandalf took to walking quicker; he caught up with Bilbo with the best of intentions.   
“My dear Bilbo, it is never wise to anger a dwarf, and to anger a dwarf such as Thorin is near on madness,” he mused.   
“He’s the one making me mad,” Bilbo spat in reply.   
“My, my, there is a Took in there somewhere – and here I thought your mother’s crockery was your greatest passion. Perhaps a word of caution though, Thorin will not take your temper lightly. Dwarves are feverish lovers and loyal partners; he will not hear of you being close to anyone but him,” Gandalf tipped his hat and moved swiftly on, feeling the Dwarf Prince’s gaze fall upon him from behind. He didn’t mind giving council but he wasn’t a wizard to be in an argument that didn’t involve him.

The news sent Bilbo into a huff. It was Thorin’s fault he was so upset; he told everyone of their private business together as though it were nothing. It made him long for Bag End; where the worst news to reach another’s ear was that he’d burnt the supper. Hobbits would never gossip about such things and they certainly would not tell one another of their conquests. Perhaps a Shire lad would cock a smile to his friends and jest about a nights work, but never in such detail. The unpleasant mood lasted the whole day with Bilbo sticking mainly to Ori. The young Dwarf quelled his temper some with his bashful curiosity and simple ways. He’d ask such childish questions about running through grassy fields, muddy banks and supper time. He was downright cute when he twiddled his thumbs and thought of a long-forgotten place he could call home; with homely smells like freshly baked bread and the sound of a mother’s chides. 

It was getting dark before the company came to a halt, something that rather put the damper on the two’s conversation. Bilbo quickly took to helping with the food and like a lost puppy Ori followed. He’d become somewhat addicted to the tales of the Shire. Bilbo only grinned at the sweetness of it and made sure to give Ori a healthy portion of the food. All the while Thorin was looking on, outraged at the new found closeness of the two. It had been mere weeks since their engagement yet the Hobbit was more interested in the company’s youth than his own lover. Though Thorin did not show it on the outside, being far too proud, he was in a mighty strop. The selfish qualms of his people clutched at his nerves; the Hobbit was his, his own, his treasure. It was a train of thought he hated. He had seen such possessiveness as a kind of sickness since his grandfather’s lust for gold. Yet he couldn’t withdraw from his need, his sheer jealousy at every smile the burglar gave to Ori. They were the sweet sort; the kind one gives to loved ones and those who are cherished. 

Thorin admired his burglars face from afar, quietly agreeing with himself that it was the way those dirty blonde curls framed his stoat face that made him ache. The way the rose flush of the Hobbit’s cheeks complimented the sweet red tint of his pursed lips; ready and waiting to be taken. It made Thorin’s groin ache to watch him. In his escapades as a younger Dwarf he’d experimented with a vast amount of partners; there was no shortage of conquests for a Prince. However, there was a distinct difference between the Dwarf women so few had seen and the Hobbit at the fire’s glow. Dwarf women were not quite so fair as Shire folk. Their brashness was a medal of sorts that saw them at the head of Dwarven tables and on occasions when they could be found, at the front of the line of battle. Their hands were as calloused as the men; hard from work in mines and the hot iron of the Smith. He’d had his fair share of the Dwarven maidens and though they were a pleasure all their own, Bilbo had come to be a secret delight. 

Thorin had never known a touch quite so soft or a smell quite so homely. It was with those things; the sensations he had not known existed, that Bilbo Baggins of Bag End had seduced him. The sweetness of it laid in Bilbo’s ignorance of his own loveliness, unaware of the tenderness of his fingertips, the musical tone of his laughter in the summer air. Thorin watched closer, carefully mapping the lines in the Hobbit’s face as his mouth stretched to smile. He longed to trace his jawbone with kisses and take his time knowing every inch of the body that so satisfied him. The first time had been a blur of emotion where the days of celibacy had left him rabid for the touch of Bilbo’s body. He needed more time; time to explore.

His train of thought was broken by sudden laughter and his haze that saw only Bilbo widened. The Halfling was giving out food whilst being assisted by Ori who was eyeing him tenderly. The sudden scorn he’d felt before re-surfaced and all he wanted to do was charge to the fire, pick the Hobbit up by his suspenders and drag him away. Possessiveness was his nature and he was a Dwarf without jewels to covert; what better treasure then to hoard than a lover’s affections, much deeper than veins of gold in the earth and far more valuable. It almost physically pained him to watch as Bilbo bumped Ori once and the spite simmered as a gentle blush grew across the young Dwarf’s cheeks. He was an innocent boy, that Ori – he hadn’t travelled much in his life nor been a warrior beforehand. The softness of a Hobbit would suit his fancy; a gentle creature so unknown to Dwarven kind. It struck Thorin that though the size was somewhat similar, Hobbit’s were a rare treat to Dwarves. A smooth, bumbling race of people mostly concerned with easy living and fine food.

He longed for a swift touch or kindly spoken word. Thorin scarcely understood why the Hobbit was so mad with him. True, Shire folk were not accustomed to the ways of Dwarves and he’d noticed Bilbo’s drop in spirits around the time he indulged the company with tales of their thrust in the woods. Still, it was no reason to ignore him; no reason to lavish Ori with the affection more befitting of his fiancé who ached for him only metres away. Of course, Thorin let no one know these things. He was Royalty; on the outside his scorn remained wrathful and serious, whilst on the inside his strop continued. 

Bilbo tried to ignore the constant gaze he could feel and continue serving the food. It was hard; Thorin’s deep blue eyes were part of the reason he’d taken to the Dwarf Prince. Every glare turned his otherwise sturdy legs to jelly and when accompanied by that voice – well it was safe to say there was little point in resisting. His temper had subsided a little having talked to Ori for so long about the Shire. The young Dwarf had been so hungry for tales poor Bilbo had almost told the story of his whole life up until that point. He poured another bowl of hot potato stew and handed it gingerly to Fili. Everyone was in need of a good hot meal in their bellies after the slightly awkward day of dodging the flares between Bilbo and Thorin. The small Hobbit felt rather bad for causing quite a fuss now that he was settled. It stood to reason that none of the Dwarves had made a single comment on the previous day’s activities and none seemed to have a lowered opinion of him. Perhaps he had made a bigger deal out of the situation than need be.

He thought that until Thorin approached for his share and only a grunt came in reply when a bowl was handed to him.   
“It’s called thank you,” Bilbo muttered. He couldn’t help it; his Tookish ways sent it rolling from the tip of his tongue. Thorin grunted and the remains of the company reeled back.   
“Should I thank Ori also, as you both worked so closely on this?” his voice was gruff. Ori recognised the tinge of jealousy immediately and though he was a youngster, he knew the line of fire was not the place to dwell. He withdrew from the cooking pot and slipped further back, taking refuge behind Nori and Dwalin.  
“Perhaps you should, since Ori has been of great company to me today,” Bilbo motioned through gritted teeth. There was no shouting or cursing as is often heard in Dwarfish arguments, but there was tenseness in the air.   
“How nice, Master Baggins,” Thorin dropped his head close to Bilbo’s and calmed his voice to a whisper. “Maybe next time you are aching, Ori could attend to it.” It was a sour remark.   
“He’d be less of a brute,” Bilbo snapped in reply.

The coarse answer bit at Thorin’s pride. He, of course, had meant it as a tease – a desperate way to embarrass his burglar. Never would he truly suggest it; the mere thought of his lover curled up next to anyone else made him sick to his stomach. At that moment he felt like throwing his arms around Bilbo and carrying him off; laying down his fur and nuzzling into the crook of his neck, begging for affection. However, Royalty does not beg.   
“So be it,” Thorin spat the words and left the argument at that. He was first to the watch and the company took ease at his removal from the group. Gandalf the grey, however, was not quite as content at leaving things at that.   
“Bilbo, I did not bring you along on this journey for you to anger our leader. I know I wanted the little Took I remembered but by my staff, try not to do anything too stupid. You’ll be the death of us all if that stubborn Dwarf doesn’t have his way soon,” Gandalf tipped his hat as he skulked off to find a spot to rest. Bilbo paid no never mind, suddenly remembering all his fury where it had before subsided. 

He chose a nice spot next to Ori to lie down, feeling the youth had been frightened terribly by Thorin’s icy gaze. He managed to coax him back out of his shell, spilling more stories about the Green Dragon and Gandalf’s wonderful fireworks. Bilbo even hummed Ori to sleep, knowing his tune reached the ears of the other Dwarfs and that it calmed them greatly. The night grew dark around them and it didn’t take long for most in the company to fall asleep. Thorin, however, kept a careful and scornful watch over everyone. His own eyes were growing heavy by the time his watch had ended and he longed for nothing more than the warmth of Bilbo’s body pressed up against his. In a moment of tired stupor he almost collapsed on top of the Hobbit, knowing the heat would drive the chill from his bones. Though his senses came to him as Bofur stirred and awoke, ready for his stretch at the watch. Thorin did little to thank him but grunt and set about laying out his own bed roll. He made sure to lie close to Bilbo; argument or not he needed some comfort. So he watched the Hobbit sleep, carefully eyeing the gentle rise and fall of the Halfling’s chest. He wanted nothing more than to outstretch an arm and pull Bilbo in close, bury his face in those dirty blonde locks and drift off. Though the world was not so kind and the Dwarf Prince fell asleep empty handed.

The next two days had the same tension in the air; the two betrothed did not speak to one another but passed hardened glances in the others direction. Bilbo stuck mainly to Ori and sometimes the Dwarven brothers whilst Thorin continued to path the way alone. The ache in his stomach had gotten worse over the days and the temptation to back down was close. He would soon be reduced to doing anything just to end the ridiculous disagreement. It was a revelation the company awaited; with the pair so at odds with one another it had dampened the spirits of the whole group. It felt more like a funeral than an engagement. There were no more lewd jokes or cat calls or congratulations; only silence. 

They stopped for camp on the edges of Mirk Wood, which only served to make Thorin’s mood fouler with the thought of elves. The men stayed quiet for a few hours, feeling the eyes of the forest judge them from afar. Eventually the solitude was broken by Bombur’s noise at cooking and the rising chatter around a small camp fire. Thorin was first for the watch again; he’d taken to separating himself from the group for the sake of avoiding Bilbo, although avoiding his burglar was really the last thing he wanted to do. With every moment they spent apart Bilbo spent talking to the others, getting closer and closer. It had gotten to the point where Thorin didn’t look behind him for fear of flying into some jealous rage. He simply sat with his back to them, humming some song of his home land and thinking of Erebor as though it waited for him. 

Suddenly he felt a tap at his shoulder, something that startled him greatly as he had not heard anyone approach. Of course, it was Bilbo. He had brought Thorin’s food to him considering the Prince had forgotten to come fetch it himself. Thorin mumbled a few words of thanks and let his fingers linger over the soft skin of Bilbo’s hands as he was given the bowl. It was the closest thing they’d had to a meaningful touch in days.   
“Are you alright, sitting out here by yourself?” Bilbo asked.   
“I am fine, Halfling,”  
“You look sour-faced. Not that that ever changes,” Bilbo tried a smile as he sat down next to Thorin.  
“Then perhaps you should take better company,” the Prince scoffed.

“Now don’t start that again. I came over here to stop that non sense,” Bilbo elbowed the Dwarf slightly.   
“And you do this of your own free will? After being so stubborn?” Thorin asked.   
“Stubborn? You should know! I may have been pushed a little by your nephew’s,” Bilbo gave a small laugh. The sound of it made Thorin smile un-wittingly. He hadn’t had Bilbo so close in days and the sound of his laughter raised his spirits.   
“Yes they are a meddlesome duo,” Thorin grunted in reply. Bilbo simply went about lighting a pipe and shuffling in a little closer; the wind had picked up and the chill was icy. Thorin noticed the small creature shiver and removed his own fur coat. Bilbo was quite surprised as the softness of the fur brushed his cheek, causing him to look to Thorin with a curious glance.   
“Do not catch cold, my Halfling,” he spoke quietly and stared out into the night. Bilbo grinned.  
“Your Halfling,” he chuckled as he entwined his fingers with the Dwarf’s. It had been a long few days but even Thorin couldn’t disprove his pleasure at the warm touch of his lover’s skin.

He squeezed the hand hard and drew closer to Bilbo to gain some warmth. It was a cold, dark night and it would only get darker as the season went on. The company behind them had shared a few nods and smiles at the couple’s actions; a happier Thorin meant an easier journey for everyone. The night air was soon filled with the sound of snoring Dwarves, all content to finally get some rest after a long day. Bilbo and Thorin lingered on with the watch, their silence often broken by the sound of Kili sleep talking or Ori’s shuffling. It made Bilbo let out a small chuckle.   
“It’s good to hear you laugh,” Thorin smiled.   
“It’s nice to be so close again,” Bilbo sighed and moved in even closer. They were shoulder to shoulder, and Bilbo let his head dip slightly to rest on Thorin. 

“Are you still cold?” the Dwarf placed his arm around the smaller man’s waist.  
“No, I’m just cuddling in closer. Though I suppose Dwarves don’t cuddle so to speak,” Bilbo smiled a little at the thought of a big, haughty Dwarf such as Thorin admitting to such ‘cutesy’ activities.   
“No, it’s not something I’ve often heard said amongst my kin,” Thorin seemed to ponder on it a little while before answering. He lowered his head to kiss Bilbo’s temple; an act so long denied to him. Bilbo chuckled as he turned to bring their lips together, carefully pressing forward as he entwined his hands in Thorin’s long, dark hair. He noticed the scratch of the Dwarf’s beard and the roughness of his chapped lips. Thorin found much pleasure in the long eluded touch of the Hobbit’s fingertips and soon the connection was deepened with tongues. They played a little; found comfort in teasing one another with playful bites which lead to kiss swollen lips. Their breath was heavy when they parted and a look was shared that burnt like fire. 

Not another word passed their lips for quite a while. Nothing but moans and whines could be heard in the blackening night around them and still nothing was said as Bilbo’s hands began to slip to Thorin’s armour. He unclasped the intricate iron plating around his chest; its weight fell to the ground with a thud. There’s a sweet anticipation in the air as Bilbo’s hands work over the dry leather of Thorin’s belt with the metal clasp cold against his fingertips. A satisfying clunk echoes in the air as it drops and his hands are moving again, clasping to Thorin’s neck as he peppers chaste kisses on his lips. This was what Thorin was waiting for; everything nice and slow, a deep tension building in his belly. Bilbo’s hands were gone again, working at the knotted moleskin sheath at his side and throwing it down. They’re still kissing, tugging, pulling at one another’s lips and hair. Bilbo had found himself comfortably straddling the Dwarven Prince, having acquired a new sense of privacy in the growing darkness.

There was barely anything left of the layers of magnificent Dwarven ware; nothing but the midnight blue tunic with a low neck and some dark trousers that wouldn’t last long. Bilbo smoothed a hand across Thorin’s chest and brought it back up to massage his shoulders. Thorin let out a deep moan as the knotted stress of the day melted away with the Hobbit’s touch. His own hands wandered to the suspenders which held up Bilbo’s trousers and he made quick work of snapping them away. Bilbo had already pushed off the fur coat and shoved it to the side. Thorin tutted and let a small chuckle rumble through his chest. He glanced behind to check on the sleeping Dwarves he’d soon forgotten in the flurry of kissing. Each member of the company was soundly asleep and Thorin made sure to crane his neck to get a good look at Gandalf who was lay furthest away from the couple. Once happy that no one was watching, he moved Bilbo to the side of him and relocated their little night time affair just slightly behind a few trees. It was close enough to watch and listen to the company if need be, but a tad more private.

Thorin spread the fur coat out across the ground and took the Hobbit into his lap as he sat down. Bilbo was quickly back to work stripping the Dwarven Prince of his tunic; his hands slowly slipped down his chest, thoroughly enjoying the broad, toned feel of Thorin’s muscles and tangled mess of hair which crept down below his trousers. Thorin sighed heavily at the motion; the sheer anticipation of Bilbo’s every move. The Hobbit began kissing at the exposed flesh on Thorin’s neck, leaving a trail of kiss marks as he travelled lower. He lavished Thorin’s torso with bites and licks, earning deep growls from the Dwarf every now and then. The invigorating feeling of control returned when Bilbo tugged on Thorin’s black hair and heard a noise so feral it made his member twitch. He knew he’d have to wait though since he had other plans in mind. It’d been a long two days with so much as a friendly glance between them and he’d seen Thorin’s longing glare from across the camp fire. Though Bilbo refrained from mentioning anything and let his partner save face. 

He suddenly tugged at Thorin’s trousers and they both shifted and writhed to remove them. Finally, when the last stitch of thread was gone from Thorin’s body, Bilbo stopped just a moment to admire. He was a handsome Dwarf and that was not something oft mentioned in the tales of the short folk. Dwarves were a legendary race of stubby fingers, bushy beards and clothing stinking like mead. Nowhere in any of Bilbo’s books did they mention the cold fire of blue eyes like the sapphires of Erebor’s great hoards or the strangely enticing gruff tones of a commanding voice. Some books did mention a talent for rough housing and dirty talk; though they were not the creatures the women of man ever lusted for. Still the same for Hobbits though the two races met more in size than any other, for Hobbit’s did not leave the Shire and certainly not for dark mountains, even ones full of gold.

It was a thought Bilbo didn’t have much time to linger on when a pair of wet lips greeted his own, biting for entrance and licking every crevice. It made him shudder and his gaze went down when the kiss broke. There waiting was Thorin’s stiffened cock begging for attention. The girth of it made Bilbo stop and think a moment, but not for too long. He bent down and as he did so Thorin’s eyes watched and waited eagerly. A tongue; hot and wet, licked the shaft from bottom to tip. Thorin lulled his head back and through gritted teeth let out a grunt, his hands shifting to grip Bilbo’s hair. With a swift movement Bilbo’s pink lips were stretched over Thorin’s cock. The Hobbit’s head bobbed up and down as he greedily quickened his pace. Every few movements he’d release the rigid flesh to tenderly lick the shaft up until its weeping head. Thorin’s hand was still entangled in a mess of dirty blonde curls and he had to resist the urge to buck his hips and just fuck Bilbo’s pert, innocent little mouth. It was tempting; he watched as Bilbo took his member again and for a while they locked eyes. One more groan and Thorin couldn’t help but thrust, still gripping tightly to Bilbo’s hair. 

Thorin tried to be careful not to gag the poor Hobbit with too deep a thrust but the whimpers and moans he could hear from the little body below him only drove him wilder. His own breathing was erratic with the pleasure and the sweat was beginning to settle on his brow. A few more tentative thrusts and he came inside Bilbo’s mouth, a proud arch to his back as he longed for deeper and tighter spaces. Bilbo was a little thankful for the break; Thorin’s girth wasn’t the easiest thing to take in one go but his lovers’ panting told him he’d done well. He swallowed the seed that was in his mouth before dipping his head back down to lick away the remaining cum. Thorin was still heaving for breath and soon found his eyes locked with Bilbo’s again as he lent in for another kiss. The cum still on his lips was slightly salty but it didn’t stop him from ravaging him with his tongue, biting at his bottom lip. He couldn’t tear Bilbo’s clothes away fast enough; every scrap of cloth between them was nothing but an irritation. 

Bilbo’s shirt was up and over his head before he knew what was what.   
“H-Halfling,” Thorin still couldn’t quite catch his breath. Usually such a simple act wouldn’t render him so speechless, but the mix of waiting and desire had his mind reeling. “This is a strange way to be mad at one another, do y-you not think?”  
“I could always not talk to you for another two days, if t-that’s what you mean,” Bilbo was slightly breathless himself. At the mere hint of that threat Thorin’s arms flung around Bilbo’s waist with a tight tug.  
“N-no!” his chest heaved and Bilbo cuddled in closer.   
“Jealous were we?” a smug Took-ish look crossed the Hobbit’s face. Thorin grumbled something in reply, rambling about ‘Ori’ and ‘my hobbit’ before beginning a tirade of kisses down along Bilbo’s neck and onto his collarbone. Thorin’s hands are rough as they slide down Bilbo’s chest and remove him of his trousers. The final piece of clothing that separated them is gone and there’s nothing that pleased Thorin more than too see Bilbo’s own neglected cock, stiff and begging for attention. 

He began pumping painfully slowly, earning a cute mewling noise from his burglar. The air was thick now with the smell of fresh earth and sex; something so tantalisingly natural it sent shivers up Bilbo’s spine. Thorin bought their members together and the friction of his partner’s flesh made Bilbo bite down on Thorin’s right shoulder. It was a replay from their last session but at that moment Bilbo couldn’t be bothered with how the tale would be told to the company by morning, or the jokes or stories they’d tell. All he cared about was the feeling of warmth in his bones and the smoothness of skin sliding against skin. He leant back to catch Thorin’s eye but was met by a finger tracing his bruised lips. He took it in his mouth and began sucking as greedily as he had before, coating it gently in saliva. Three times Bilbo took Thorin’s fingers and still wet with his spit they poked at his hole. One entered and he squirmed uncomfortably; suddenly feeling that the oil from last time had made the job a lot more pleasant. Thorin began a gentle movement, pushing and pulling his fingers with a great amount of care. Slow moans escaped Bilbo’s lips and a small gasp followed as a second finger was very gently added. Thorin began a scissoring motion, widening the hole ready for his hardened excitement. The motion was slow at first and grew more pleasurable until a third finger joined the action.

Bilbo had concentrated his pain and pleasure on covering Thorin’s neck in rabid love bites that coated his marked skin. His hands were tangled in the Dwarf’s fine black hair when Thorin finally retracted his fingers and replaced them with his cock. The first thrust in was a familiar pain Bilbo craved and it wasn’t long before he was begging for movement; a slow, loving pace that would let him enjoy every minute of riding the Dwarf. Nothing compared to the tightness of Bilbo and the way his warmth filled every part of Thorin’s body. The Hobbit began moving his hips, desperate for something deeper and the friction only increased as the pace quickened. The gentleness started to fade as a deep desire took them both; starved of rough affection over the last two days and hungry for something primal. Their lips were locked again desperate for dominance as the rocking of Bilbo’s hips drove Thorin’s hands down to squeeze the two firm cheeks at his disposal.

He clawed at them and growled deep in his throat. The reverberations bounced through Bilbo’s body and caused him to shiver, feeling dirtier than ever before. He wanted it faster. He wanted it harder. His hands tugged at Thorin’s flowing hair and he broke their fevered kisses to beg.   
“F-faster,” Bilbo Baggins of the Shire had no shame in asking for more. If a life of dirty sex with Dwarven Royalty was his fate then he was going to enjoy it. He made sure to whisper it slowly into Thorin’s ear; his hot breathe tickling the fine hairs that stood on end with his sweet request. Thorin took it as a challenge. The thrusts were harder and faster, never ceasing for even a minute until a sound escaped Bilbo’s parted lips – something desperate and more life a scream than a moan. That little spot had him moaning and pleading to be taken again and again. Thorin obliged happily, content to listen to his burglar scream for more until his throat was hoarse and that cute little face was drunk with desire. 

He kept his thrusts at a consistent speed and felt his own heightened climax nearing. He pressed a large hand to Bilbo’s mouth, covering the sound of beautiful moans before sinking his teeth into the Hobbit’s neck. It was sudden and drew a muffled scream from Bilbo that was mixed somewhere between horror and pure euphoria. He kissed the wound better, tracing his teeth marks with his tongue. The slickness of heated skin rubbed together; Bilbo’s small body writhing and clutching to his own, everything was driving him closer to the edge.  
“T-Thorin,” the little Hobbit’s voice was stopped by the firm hand at his mouth but he licked it tentatively. Bilbo’s fingers were still playing with Thorin’s hair, tugging for grip as the rocking of their hips drove him mad. The pace was rapid and every thrust hit that sweet spot that made him sing. Thorin was big for small folk and every movement of his hardened cock made Bilbo desperate for him. The Hobbit’s tight hole was a pleasure Thorin hadn’t known, never having had a Halfling as a lover before. The friction and the quivering of muscles as he smoothed his hands up Bilbo’s sides had them both whining. 

A few more thrusts; fast and deep, with frantic breathing before Bilbo came all over his lovers’ chest. That face he made, stuck in a state of bliss with a moan so lustful, Thorin flung back his own head and emptied his seed in the Hobbit’s tightness. He took some small pride in Bilbo coming first and wrapped his arms around his small lover’s waist. They lay there for a little while, feeling they had more time than their last encounter. The night had grown darker and now that their moans were silent they could hear the gentle snoring of the company not too far off.   
“Do you think they heard?” Bilbo panted.   
“Maybe. Does it bother you little one?” Thorin bought Bilbo closer to his chest. The Hobbit thought for a moment.  
“Not really…” Bilbo let his head rest of Thorin and nuzzle closer as his eyes shuttered closed. Dawn would come soon and they would swap positions with Bofur for the watch.   
“Sleep,” Thorin pressed a small kiss to the Hobbit’s forehead. It would be a long journey to the Lonely Mountain come morning.


End file.
